


An Elf, an Orc, and a Paladin Walk into a Tavern...

by masseylass



Series: User Requests [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Cuckolding, Fantasy, Gags, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Painplay, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22748674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masseylass/pseuds/masseylass
Summary: Aralas the elf has been in love with Lady Cassandra the paladin ever since she rescued him from atop a tower. But now that a dashing orc fighter has joined their party, their relationship becomes a little more...interesting.
Series: User Requests [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583734
Comments: 11
Kudos: 18





	An Elf, an Orc, and a Paladin Walk into a Tavern...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoonLord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonLord/gifts).



> This story is for MoonLord and is a two-chapter affair involving humiliation, degradation, and elements of consensual torture (as well as wholesome vanilla fluff.)

Imagine, if you will, the very essence of strength and beauty wrapped inside of one woman. That woman is Cassandra Dawn, and it was she who saved me six months ago from atop the blood mage’s tower. “Virgin elven blood,” they needed, and wouldn’t you know it, those witches could sniff out a virgin elf from miles away. Their sacrificial blade had barely grazed my throat when the doors to the chamber burst open. Cassandra swooped in and gouged out my captor’s middle. I could feel the spray of blood against my flesh as her pike skewered the haggard sorceress. Her body dropped. Three others attempted to cast spells at the raven-haired warrior, but Cassandra’s counterspell sent rays of fire and ice back in the direction of the casters. It was a bloody but quick battle, one in which Cassandra and I escaped unscathed. 

I was shaken for a week. I had hardly stepped foot outside of the forest in which I was raised before I was kidnapped and very nearly violated and killed. In fact, I was on my pilgrimage when Cassandra found me. Apparently, my clan elder (bound to the glen as he was) hired the passing paladin to “check up on me,” a sentiment I would have found patronizing had it not saved my hide. Despite my close brush with death, I realized that the tedium of clan life was no life at all, and that my heart belonged to Cassandra and to the wilderness beyond. 

From the moment I laid my brown eyes upon her dangerously blue ones, my soul was no longer my own…it was Cassandra’s. I was hers to do with as she pleased. I was her right hand and her left; I picked up camp after we slept and prepared breakfast in the morning; I charged at our enemies and mended her wounds when she charged first; I listened to her sing and praised her voice. Our affair began with small gestures, a brush of the arm here and there, followed by laughter around the fire, until finally, she was showing me what it felt like to fully experience a woman. 

…and then some, I think.

Cassandra was a little more… _experienced_ than myself. You see, my clan was very prudish when it came to such things. Eighteen was young for an elf, and no such elf was expected to have experimented beyond perhaps a quick bout of self-induced release in the brush between chores. Even that was never addressed openly. And suddenly I was swept away by this goddess who just… _woof._

How had she learned such things, I wondered? I was surprised to discover that she had had multiple partners. It wasn’t a deterrent, just a curiosity. After a few weeks or perhaps a month had passed, I asked her more personal questions about her past affairs. She answered honestly. She had experienced many partners: men and women; men with biologically female parts and women with biologically male parts; those who identified as both or neither; dwarves, elves, humans, orcs…the list went on. 

“Who has been your favorite?” I asked one night around the fire as we finished supper.

Cassandra cocked her pretty head and smiled, her makeupless lips chapped from the chilly air. Rugged eyeliner outlined her wintry eyes. “You, Aralas.”

“M-me?” I sputtered, choking on my waterskin like a fool. “Surely, you must be mistaken…”

“I am not,” she argued, as stubborn and indignant as always. “I’ve experienced many of life’s pleasures, my sweet Aralas, but none quite so young and innocent as you.”

“My innocence is what pleases you?”

“Oh shit yeah,” she replied with a full mouth, chewing the last of her stale bread.

“Truly?”

She slid close to me, side by side on the mossy log, and slipped her hand between my thighs. Every time she did such a thing it felt as though I were being reborn, awakened from the ashes. I sat up straight with a jolt to my spine and dropped my waterskin onto the ground.

“Cocks and cunts, the lot of them,” she answered, giving my wanting length a squeeze through my trousers. I licked my lips and shuddered. “But you? You appreciate me. You _revel_ in me.” 

“I need neither cock nor cunt to please me, Lady Cassandra, only your - _ahh!_ \- company,” I panted as she worked me to erection. 

“I don’t doubt it, my darling. But though I love you more than the world itself…” She stopped petting me. 

“What? Wh-why did you stop, my lady?” I asked, desperate for physical affection. I was jutting forth from between my legs while her hand hovered over me (which truly made me long for her) and she said,

“I only wish you could experience such fancies. Idle fancies, but still...fancies nevertheless.” She finally offered another stroke. My hips couldn’t sit still. 

“I don’t understand. You would have me – _ohhh yes right there!_ – you would have me lie with another?”

“I might indeed.” She pulled me out of my smallclothes and fell onto her knees, claiming me with her pretty lips. I almost felt guilty having her cater to such petty needs of mine. Damned if it wasn’t pure bliss, though. It took nary a minute before I fell close to the undoing of passion, watching her shoulder-length hair bob with her head. It brushed my thighs. I could feel her tongue snaking around my privates.

“If…if it pleases you...though I confess I – _ahhh I’m close!_ – I have never been with another.”

“mnnrrghhh.”

“P-pardon?”

She held my pulsating shaft in her hand and left me with a resonant _pop!_ “I said ‘I know.’” Her fingers clamped around my modest length and began to lure waves of passion from its depths. It also lured a filthy noise from me, one that made me feel rather humiliated. Strange. I understood that such noises left her smallclothes looking like they’d been sitting out in the rain, but my young age coupled with my inexperience left me feeling emasculated at times. “And yet I continue to dream,” she sighed with a smile, tending to me until I dug my nails into the log and made quite the mess in her hand.

We continued our travels as mercenaries, although Cassandra was picky about who she took on as a client. She would neither kill nor steal (at least not for the wrong reasons) and her reasons were always sound. For example, she would kill a killer, or steal from a thief; she catered only to the righteous, and I could not have been more proud to serve by her side.

‘Twas a bleary, snowy day. Lady Cassandra was wrapped in white furs. She reminded me of an owl, black flecks dotting the neck of her coat, the tail of which extended down to her ankles and flapped like wings in the gales. Would she take flight, I wondered? Cassandra cocked her head and smiled down at me. I wasn’t an entire head shorter, but almost. I was freezing, not that I would have spoken up about it; I needed her to know that my strength, endurance, and fortitude were hers. Besides, she likely would have offered her coat up, and she was just so beautiful with it on.

After slaying a pack of wolves that had been tormenting a small village, I skinned their hides as proof and carried them back to the village. We were rewarded handsomely and opted to spend a portion of our coin at a human tavern.

Taverns. I never understood them. They were too loud, too crowded, and why all the ale? I drank because Cassandra enjoyed it, but the bitter taste of fermented swill made me feel ill. Elven liqueurs were far more to my liking, though they were few and far between outside of the forest. This particular tavern, though, was quite dead. I took a seat by the hearth and warmed my fingertips while Cassandra paid for a room at the bar.

I glanced around. It was a small place, filled with cobwebs and a bit of tracked-in snow at the door. The floorboards were covered in rushes and creaked with every slight movement that I, Cassandra, or the one other patron – that orc – made. Wait. Was that truly an orc? I had never seen one before. Huh. He looked so…unremarkable. I always imagined orcs to be more like giants, I suppose. Tall, hulking creatures with green skin and - -

He pulled himself out of the dark corner with a yawn so loud it could have been a dragon’s roar. When he stretched, I swear he filled up half the room. His massive, off-white canines glinted in the light of the hearth. “AUUUGGGHHHHHWWWW! FUCK!” His back popped. “AW YEAH!” I’m not certain what my facial expression read, but I wager it was something between awe, suspense, and perhaps a touch of horror. “Sup?” he asked, scratching his balls.

I opened my mouth and it flapped up and down like a trout. “I. Uh. Erm. That is I.”

“Greetings,” interrupted Cassandra, approaching him and holding out her hand. “My name is Paladin Cassandra Dawn of Elmshurst, and this is Aralas. He was raised in a stump by wizards.”

“That…that is…” I sputtered, “not…entirely true!!!” 

“Sounds like it’s not entirely false, either,” replied the orc. 

He slapped Cassandra’s hand and they gave a firm shake. The orc then extended the same gesture to me. I hesitantly obliged – after all, this was a human gesture, one that still felt foreign to me – and was met by the wrathful clutch of the orc. My _gods,_ was he going to rip my arm off?! I gritted my teeth and offered my most convincing smile, suffering the orc’s friendly gesture for far longer than I deemed necessary. 

“So. This tavern sucks.” Well on that we agreed. “Don’t suppose either of you are looking for a fighter?”

Absolutely not, I thought. “Perhaps,” answered Cassandra. Absolutely perhaps, I thought. “What have you to offer, orc?”

As soon as he smiled that smile and laughed that playful laugh, I knew that something interesting was about to happen. Moments later, I was on the edge of soiling myself. My beloved Cassandra was twirling her pike, blocking the blows of the orc’s sword, sparring outdoors. The evening’s twilight blanketed the freshly fallen snow with an ethereal, blue glow. The two sister moons hung full in the sky like cats’ eyes, one white and the other yellow, peering down on the three of us and the flecks of snow that swirled about.

Despite Cassandra enjoying herself, I found it difficult not to insert myself between my beloved and the hulking monstrosity whose name was yet unknown. I listened to them grunt, Cassandra’s breaths sharp and jagged and the orc’s deep and fluid. They clashed and fought. My lady’s cloak beat like a flag against the air while the orc’s boots trampled the snow, each of them dancing the dance of the fight, each as stubborn and unyielding as the other.

Finally, the orc’s sword leveraged Cassandra’s pike in such a way that it sprung from her grasp. It flew into the air like a spear and landed blade-first into the snow some feet away. The orc’s arm was extended, blade at her throat. Dimples erupted against his mossy skin and twilight gleamed in his eyes.

Cassandra looked taken aback at first. Lady Cassandra Dawn of Elmshurst did not _lose_ at sparring matches. Slowly, her guard fell, and she chuckled. “What is your name, orc?”

“Marbuk Grogsbogger.”

“Truly?” I rudely asked before I could help myself. I mean, it was just such an _orcy_ name. Four eyes met my flaming cheeks and I looked away before I could incur Mr., ah, Grogsbogger’s wrath. If he could defeat Cassandra then surely he could rip me in half like a slip of parchment.

“Nah, I’m shitting you,” he chuckled. “I love messing with humans and elves. The name’s Marr. So. As you can see, I’m an orc.” He tread the snow, plucking Cassandra’s pike from the ground and handing it back. She wielded it with both arms, but Marr made it look so…tiny. “A talented couple of folks like yourselves - plus me - equals mad loot. You dig?”

“Bolder battles and more brazen beasts,” smiled Cassandra, graciously bowing as she claimed her weapon. She twirled it, clasped it shut in her buttoned, leather holster, and puffed her chest out. “A divine prospect, my friend. What are your terms, then?”

“Split the loot three ways and no murder.”

“And?”

“And no murder,” he repeated. 

Good. He was an honorable sort. And here I had assumed all orcs were cannibals. Of course, who’s to say he wasn’t? Perhaps he would devour the corpses of our fallen enemies, pick their bones clean, whittle them down, and use them as toothpicks to save for his next grisly meal. I could not have been more wrong.

Marr was kinder and gentler than any of my elven brethren. With Cassandra at his side, she appeared brash and unrelenting. Of course that didn’t subtract from her beauty or femininity. It’s just that Marr was so… _sweet._

“There you go…come on lil’ guy,” he cooed, his enormous frame crouched down beside a boulder. Three weeks had passed and we had learned he was kind and outgoing, a poet, and an ex-bard (although he refused to sing for reasons he preferred to keep private.) Now he was shooing a butterfly off of the bandit corpse he intended to plunder. Cassandra and I exchanged curious glances. By the time Marr had turned around, his mossy cheeks were flushed and warm and he was giggling. The butterfly had latched itself onto his nose and was flapping its orange wings. “Look, guys! He likes me!”

I rather fancied Marr. He was an excellent conversationalist and a far better cook than I. He was half as good as hunting as myself and we exchanged our knowledge accordingly; I showed him how to poach a deer, and he taught me how to season venison with a pinch of salt and the leaves of local flora. 

One night, after healing a rather nasty gash on my dear lady’s brow, she saw herself off to bed. I asked her, begged her to let me help out in some way, but she tutted me, pressed a kiss to my cheek, and climbed into the burlap tent. I reminded myself that it was unhealthy to spend every waking second together and that my lady – through her immortal beauty – was still just as mortal as the rest of us and needed sleep when she felt unwell. I sighed and saw myself off to the campfire. Marr was busying his hands with a block of wood and a knife. Such talent he had.

“That’s fetching.”

“Fletching, actually,” he corrected, rolling the unfinished statue of the archer over in his palm. “Get it?” Now what’s eatin’ ya, kid?”

“Think nothing of it,” I answered, attempting to come to grips with the fact that Cassandra was fine on her own, that she wanted sleep, not my company.

“You miss Cass?”

“I…” 

Marr chuckled, his big shoulders shaking as he did so. Gods, he was huge, although he looked a smidgeon smaller without his garb. His leather armor was folded neatly next to his bedroll near the fire. Marr sat cross-legged, shirtless, wearing only a tight pair of sleeping trousers. Massive, tribal tattoos wound their way up his olive arms. They were the color of blood. His black stubble was coming through, fading into his sideburns that weaved behind his ears where his thick dreads were pulled back into a bun. Whenever he fought, his dangling, silver charms tinkled, hanging tight against his locks. 

“What do you like about her?” he asked, snapping me out of my trance. He was just so gods damned _interesting,_ that Marr.

“Well, I…” I tittered. “Where should I begin? Should I sing praise of her unwavering courage? Of her eyes, blue like the sea? Her hair, raven and soft? Her lips, pink and wet like the dew against a tulip in the springtime?”

“Speaking of two lips…” Marr wiggled his brows. “Which lips we talkin’ about? Huh?”

“I don’t understand,” I confessed.

“Sex, kid. I’m talking about sex.”

“Oh! Well! I!” My face was at least as red as a tomato, you know, those terrible, human vegetables they insisted were actually fruits despite their _obviously_ being a vegetable. “I suppose there is that, as well…” Curse my inexperience to hell and back.

Marr brought the knife down over the archer’s face and curved it, carving him out a little nose. “You know she talks about you.”

Could I have _been_ any redder? “Truly?”

“Oh yeah. She’s in love with you.” 

Marr and I were silent for a time as I stared into the crackling flames and focused on the strange feeling brewing inside me. It was warm, dancing just like the fire. She loved me? I mean, she told me often, but to hear it from Marr…

“She talk to you about ‘the thing’ yet?” asked Marr.

“The…thing?”

“Eh. Forget it.”

I blinked. “No. What thing?”

Marr glanced up, sighed, and set his whittling upon the ground. He cleared his throat. “Cass wants me to…” Oh gods, was _he_ red, too? Did orcs even **_GET_** red?! Evidently so! “Ahem. Sorry. This is a little…awkward.”

“It’s alright, Marr. What is it?” I had to know. He looked away. “Marr?”

Marr licked his plump lips and swallowed down his apprehension. Turning back to face me, he asked me from across the fire, “Are you straight?”

“Straight?” I inquired. I didn’t understand. I didn’t have any issues with my spine, if that’s what he-

“Do you exclusively like women, or are you open to sleeping with men? Specifically, me?” 

My eyes must have looked like the moons in the sky: big and wide and gaping. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he sighed. “I told her you weren’t. Never mind.” He picked up his project and went back to work. I continued to sit near the fire, but could only sit still for another five minutes or so before my legs and mind felt too restless. I went for a walk, which did nothing to answer all of the questions I had, and I promised myself I would speak with Cassandra the next day.

It took a week before I had the gall. I was not prepared to hear that she did indeed speak with Marr about, as she put it, ‘fucking me into submission and making me moan so loud I provoked the local wolves.’ I didn’t speak for the rest of the day. It’s not that I didn’t want to; my voice box just…stopped working.

And the more I thought about it, the more my head ached over it. Firstly, Marr couldn’t have been opposed to the idea if he had brought it up with me in the first place; if he had objected, he would have shut Cassandra down and never spoken about it again. Secondly, Marr liked men? _Young_ men?! _Young **elven**_ men?! Was he like Cassandra? Did he fancy women too, or those with either or no gender at all? Did _I?_ How would I know? I had never found release with anyone other than my lady Cassandra and the loyal embrace of my own fist. 

For the time, I buried my thoughts and attempted to focus on Cassandra. Making love was still good – she was still as lively and beautiful as ever between the sheets – but I felt inadequate. I loved her with everything inside of myself, and I was advertently casting aside her fantasy due to my own inhibitions. I didn’t know what to do. And then, one day, down by the river, it struck me like a stone to the head.

My lady was a ways back at camp chopping wood and Marr was pissing in the stream. I had just watched him catch three fish which were neatly lanced on the tip of his sword. (The fishing I had taught to him, but the little garnish with his sword was born of his own ingenuity.)

Marr clutched his member and relieved himself, staring up at the setting, late-winter’s sun which sparkled like elven liqueur across the water. I observed his grip, attempting not to appear too obvious, and suddenly entertained the idea of watching him stroke himself the way I used to do so often before meeting my lady. The idea…was not bad. It was so ‘not bad’ that I crossed my legs to hide my interest, and went back to sipping my ale. (The taste was growing on me after all. I suppose many things were.)

I was three ales in that night which was more than I had ever consumed. Cassandra patted me on the back as I hiccupped and laughed. Marr was cross-legged by the fire as usual, taking one of his dreadlocks and winding it around the others to secure its hold. When he did this, I scrutinized his muscles, the way they bulged when he lifted his arms. Those tattoos of his hugged every last bit of tone. I felt the need to cross my legs again, but instead, hoisted myself off the ground and planted myself on the earth in front of Marr. “Fuck me,” I demanded.

Marr opened his mouth. I hadn’t realized he had been chewing on a bit of elf sprig. Its minty, leafy wad fell out of his mouth. 

Cassandra laughed, however, it wasn’t her usual, melodic laugh; it was one born of awkwardness. “Aralas, my love, it’s a bit past your bedtime is it not?”

“What?” I gawked, staring over my shoulder at her. “You…wanted this, didn’t you?”

“When you are sober and willing, certainly.”

“I _am_ willing!”

Cassandra was about to protest when Marr settled his giant hand against my shoulder. It made me feel miniscule. And also, aroused. Pleasure rippled like the water against my nethers. He peered into my eyes, his the color of smoke. “Do you really want me to fuck you?”

“I…I do!” 

“Does that idea get you off? Does it make you feel good…right here?” 

A HUGE palm ground down against my groin and cupped me so quickly I yelped. My sudden noise faded into a quavering tremble, which then subsided into a low, gravelly moan. “It-it-it d-does!” I stuttered. 

Cassandra furrowed her thick eyebrows. “Marr, if you dare take advantage of-”

“Yeah, I’ll bet a pretty, little elf like you is just dying to get fucked by someone like me.” He rubbed my crotch, palm colliding with my erection over my pants. I shifted my hips, chest heaving. Oh gods. I felt dizzy. Aroused. Like I was going to… “If you think my hand feels good, wait ‘til you feel my big cock inside of your tight little asshole. Wait ‘til I make you clench. Make you scream. Make you cum.” Gods…gods that friction…it was so, _so, **SO GODS DAMNED**_ “And if you want it so bad, you’ll do what Cass says and sober up.” He retracted his hand. Cassandra visibly relaxed, shoulders falling back to a neutral stance. She exhaled.

“Please don’t make me wait,” I begged. “Please, Cassandra. Please, Marr. I feel like I’m about to… like I need to…”

“You feel like what?” chided Cassandra. She knew. She knew I had nearly found release in my own trousers. I was drunk and aroused enough to, that’s for certain. But it was like they said; if I didn’t obey, I may never please Cassandra, and subsequently, never find pleasure of my own, at least through Marr.

The next morning, I understood why they wanted me sober. The night prior, I would have let Marr handle me any way he wanted. That was when I was drunk. Now that I could think clearly, I found the idea of Marr probing my asshole nerve-wracking - - which, by the way, was exactly what he was doing. He was stirring breakfast over the fire with one hand, stretching out my anus with his huge forefinger with the other, preparing me for the kinds of things Cassandra wanted him to do to me. Honestly, it just made me feel like I had to _go._ I endured this for a time and finally asked him to stop. We tried again at lunch with more success. That’s when I discovered something I hadn’t known existed before; something called a prostate.

Cassandra leaned with her back against a tree, arms folded across her hauberk and ankles crossed. Her head was tilted and she grinned lovingly at me as I released my first sober, horny moan that didn’t stem directly from her touch. Marr had me bent over a fallen log as he explored my anus to find a position that would entice me. I couldn’t believe how little time it took before my cheeks were quavering and my knees were shaking. I would have found release on the log if not for Marr’s sudden removal of his digit. It was as it was the night before: my testes were full, but I was granted no release. And to make matters worse, Marr told me that if I did find release of my own volition, all bets were off.

This continued for a week. _A week._ You heard me correctly. I had not let myself drain in one week. The last time was between my dear lady’s legs the night I felt so inadequate. I had barely gotten there at all. Now, I was aching, _dying_ for any sort of fulfillment. 

Marr continued to groom me. He taught me things I knew not existed, words one recites when he or she or they would like one to stop having sex; he taught me exactly how much of him I could take inside of my anus before it hurt, and how much hurt I could take before I resorted to reciting the word we had chosen. _Elf Sprig._

And all the while, Cassandra Dawn of Elmshurst watched me train with patience and a hard look across her face. As the week progressed, her eyes became less patient and more hungry. I could tell how badly she wanted Marr to take me. I could tell because it was the same look she got the first time I had successfully made her release at the touch of my fingers - - something she trained me to do as well - - and the same look she got when she found bliss at the precise moment I did, the moment I spilled inside of her. 

One rainy night as we held up at a roadside inn, we split the cost of a room. We would have traveled further, but Cassandra was unwell and desperately needed rest. I was growing concerned; she was usually so lively and passionate, and this was the third time that week she felt exhausted and refused supper. When she sat with her rear against our room’s table and hiked up her blouse I understood why. Marr whistled and leaned back on the bed.

“You…you…” I stammered. “You are…with child?!”

“I am, my love.”

“But just one moment, the only person you’ve bedded recently is…” Me. It was me.

I’m not certain what happened next. Everything was spinning. Before I could find my bearings, Marr was hoisting me back onto the bed with a hand on my small shoulder and another on my waist. “Take it easy, kid.”

“I’m…a father? Truly?” 

“You are, Aralas,” confirmed Cassandra. “And now you shall become my husband.”

Everything was white and dark and spinning and stagnant. “Oh, gods…”

“Easy…” repeated Marr. His hand was over my belly now. It was so large it filled up half my middle.

“Are…are you asking me if I shall marry you, my lady?”

“I mean, I’m not really asking.” She filed a fingernail with another and blew on it. 

I agreed to her demand at once. “I shall! I mean, I will, gladly! Lady Cassandra, I shall be your husband and father to our child, throughout our days, in sickness and in heaaaAAAHHHH _HHHHH GODS!_ ” 

Ah. It seemed Marr’s hand had found its way into my trousers. Truly? _Now?_ And there was no build-up, either, no soft playing or gentle strokes, just Marr’s hand squeezing my middle in place and his other, dare I say, _screwing_ my…well, my…

“Remind my husband of the safe word, Marr. I shall enjoy watching him beg you to stop.”

“Elf Sprig,” rumbled Marr, fist colliding against my base as he jerked me. “Got it, whore?”

My insides melted to ice. Whore? I wasn’t a whore…I just wanted to please Lady Cassandra. I wanted to see her bright eyes shining as I did her bidding, trapped under the clutches of Marr; I wanted him to play with me and make me feel as Cassandra did on our private nights; I wanted to find release, because it had been a week now and Gods, my cock just-

“I understand, just, please!” I abruptly jerked my hips. “Please don’t stop!”

And I knew. I knew when he gave me that look, that sultry, _dangerous_ look, that the night was just beginning…


End file.
